A call for help

Dear Dog Whisperer,

I need your help. My dog, Max, may be possessed by Satan. There are a number of reasons why I have come to this conclusion. What happened this morning is a perfect example. When I took him outside he ran as fast as he could into the street. I was half asleep after waking up at 4 a.m. to a 2-year-old screaming to watch Dora. (Can you also refer me to a whisperer for her too?) At this point, I was in pajamas with mascara on my face.  We’re not talking pajamas you would see at Victoria’s Secret. I had on a pair of old sweat shorts and my husband’s t-shirt. Basically, I looked like I could play right field for a woman’s softball team.   My hair was up in a style similar to Pebbles from the Flintstones.  I planned to be in the privacy of my own back yard. Instead, I was chasing a dog that would bolt every time I bent down to pick him up. Sure, watching a woman run down a beach may be sexy on Baywatch. Seeing a bra-less mother of 3 sprinting through a Cul de sac doesn’t have the same appeal. If you can help that would be great.

Sincerely,

A frustrated pet owner

House Training

“Did he pee?” “Mom, did he pee?” “He peed?” “Oh man, really? He peed again?” These are common questions nowadays in my house. Why? We have a puppy. I have days when I wish I could put on a puffer vest , hop in a DeLorean and relive the day we decided to bring this dog home. Don’t get me wrong, I love animals. I grew up with dogs and it was such a joy. Of course it was. I didn’t take care of the pets. I played and snuggled with our dogs. Our cat curled up in my bed at night until it ran away. When that cat disappeared so did the allergies and asthma attacks I had been plagued with. Turns out I was allergic to that cat. Back then, I didn’t change kitty litter, walk the dog in frigid temperatures or clean up pungent dog urine.

My oldest son loves the dog. My daughter tries to play with him, but cries whenever it playfully bites. My middle child? Well, he may be Satan. (I’m kidding. I think.) He torments this dog. Then again, I remember, as a child, my brother played football with our cat. Unfortunately for the cat it was always on the opposing team. My brother would race down the long hallway of our apartment and tackle the cat. Amazingly, the cat never got hurt and loved him anyway. I suppose I will grow to love our dog too. As soon as he learns to pee outside.